A Minor Accident

On one stormy summer afternoon, I was rear-ended while driving on the highway. The traffic was stop-and-go, and heavier than usual. We had just entered a tunnel, or maybe the overpass directly before the tunnel. Either way, the rain was coming down hard, but we were protected by a concrete umbrella. I've never been in a major accident, and this one did not change that fact. We pulled over to the side of the road and a large man wearing a ratty t-shirt and paint-stained jeans stepped out of his Dodge minivan and ran over to me. With his hand on his head, he repeatedly shouted "I'm so sorry," but in a way that seemed more like an accusation than an apology. He took a good look at my bumper and saw that it was all torn up. The bumper had pieces of black plastic and white styrofoam protruding with jagged edges, and calculated looking scrapes along either end. I was somewhat embarrassed to explain to the bombastically apologetic man that all the damage had been done over 10 years ago, and that my bumper had looked like that for almost as long as I could remember. I don't know what sort of retaliatory action I would have really taken for damages to a car that is old enough to get its own drivers license and drive itself. The man was so relieved that he frantically offered to buy me a pizza, or maybe a 6-pack of beer for the road. And had I not been in a rush, I might have taken him up on the offer.